


Guess Who Showed Up

by GrayceAdamsArchive



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: ....tags., Comedy, Crack?, F/M, Randomness, Smut, Tumblr Prompt, but everything I write has a teeny bit of plot in it no matter what I do, meant to be PWP, so PWP but WP, this is my madness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:54:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrayceAdamsArchive/pseuds/GrayceAdamsArchive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, I was wandering about on Tumblr a few days ago, and I stumbled across a prompt from watsonsdick.tumblr.com (see here:<br/>http://watsonsdick.tumblr.com/post/56940906296/so-its-a-friday-night-its-pouring-rain-outside   ) and this is what came of it. </p><p>I have no idea if this is what they intended or not. :x </p><p>But oh, well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guess Who Showed Up

My mobile buzzed on my coffee table, and I looked away from the rather cheesy movie I was watching on my TV, reaching out to check the new text. 

_Abby {Hey, you coming out tonight?_

I sighed and typed out a quick reply. It was pouring rain out, and I was supposed to be meeting some friends at a pub round the corner. But...

_Have you seen the bloody weather? I don't have a car, remember?}Me_

_Abby {Ah, that's right. Get a cab?_

_Already in my bed time jim jams. Maybe next time. }Me_

_Abby {Lame. Ttyl then._

_Bye} Me_

I set aside my phone and sighed. It was nine thirty on a Friday night, and here I was, sitting on my couch in my Snoopy jammies, watching some movie with frankly awful plot because I was still too emotionally devastated from my last attempt at flirting while drinking to brave the attempt again (the rain and pajamas had just been a convienient excuse). After all, how did one recover from throwing up on a bloke you'd just started snogging and whispering dirty things to in the back of a cab after a night of perfect (and slightly drunk) omigod-this-person-is-my-soul-mate chatting? 

Just thinking about it made me bury my face in my hands in shame. No way was I showing my face among my friends again for a while. I'd been forever labeled as The Girl Who Barfed by half of them already. I didn't need that information passed on to the next guy who was brave enough to hit on mousy little me. 

Pushing the awful emotionally traumatizing memory aside, I did my best to refocus on my crap telly, but honestly, I wasn't all that interested in the terribly predictable dialogue and shallow characters. 

I was truly itching to go to the pub. 

I glanced forlornly out the front window, taking in the drizzling rain and empty street. There weren't even any cabs cruising by. I chewed my lip, and wondered if it would be worth the soaking to go surprise my friends. 

My phone buzzed. 

Picking it up, I checked the new text. 

_Abby {Heyyyy, theres this bloke here and hes so perfet for u_

_Abby {answer ur fonnneeeeeee_

_Abby {megggllllleeeessss_

_I sighed. My friends were already smashed, good God. They'd only been at the pub for what, half an hour?_

_Abby {awww hes leavin_

_Abby {u shuld come meet himm hes cute_

I rolled my eyes at the terrible grammar and spelling that plagued my best friend whenever she downed more than a pint or two in rapid succession. 

_Abby {hes ttly ur tipe_

_Abby { **< Media Message>**_

I sighed and opened the file, more out of curousity than anything. 

He was older than me, by maybe five years. His hair was blonde and short and wet. He had this awkward "why is this stranger taking a picture of me" smile on his face, like he was too polite to tell her to piss off. And he had these bluish greenish hazel eyes that were somehow dark and bright all at the same time. 

And I caught myself staring. 

And maybe drooling, just a little bit. 

Because Abby's right, he was my type. Maybe a bit shorter than I usually scouted for, but...Jeez Louise, those eyes. And he had that bit of five o'clock shadow that always drove me a wee bit nuts....

Shaking my head, I quickly closed the picture and determinedly went back to my movie, ignoring Abby's next few texts, which became less and less decipherable as time went on. I knew she'd eventually get bored and stop. 

Just about five after ten, someone knocked on my door. 

I wanted to ignore them. Really, I did. Several things ran though my head. It could be that poor sod next door having another fight with his wife again. Or it could be Mrs. West down the street wanting to know if I had any meds for her aching joints (I never did, but she did seem to like having an excuse to go through my cupboards for biscuits). 

Or it could be some psycho murderer intent on stabbing me. 

They knocked again, sounding somehow tentative about it, and I got up from my couch with an almighty sigh and stalked over. I tossed looking out the peephole (which was too high up for me to use practically anyway) for flinging the door open dramatically and demanding, "What?" 

And once I see who it is, I'm blindsided speechless. 

It's him. 

That bloke. The bloke Abby sent me a picture of from the pub. 

The one with the bloody amazing eyes. 

He's soaked, the rain having turned from drizzle to downpour in the last half hour. His hair is dark from the water, and he looks over all rather miserable and a little nervous. 

"Uhm, sorry," he said, his breath puffing out in a white cloud that smells lightly of alcohol. "May I use your phone? I came to the pub around the corner with some friends, they’re gone now and I’ve been waiting for a cab for, I don’t know, an hour? I’d call from my mobile…but I think I lost it in the pub, I went back but I couldn’t find it…"

My phone buzzes again on the coffee table, and I turn to look at it. 

"Please, can you help me?" 

"I...I, uh, yeah, I mean, sure, just...come in, get out of the rain," I just about fell all over myself to get him inside, but he doesn't seem to notice, looking grateful that I just answered my bloody door. 

"Thank you, I can't tell you how much this means to me," he said, quickly stepping inside after me. I let the door fall shut, and couldn't seem to summon the brain power to do much more than stand and stare at him. Despite the fact that he was dripping on my carpet. 

He looked down at himself and sighed. "I'm sorry to have caused so much trouble," he said, grabbing the edges of his jumper as if it would help stop the dripping. 

"No trouble," I mumbled, breaking out of my stupor and hurrying over to my phone and unlocking it. I have several missed messages. 

_Abby {meggles, hes gone u missed out_

_Abby {he waz huuutt_

Hut? 

_Abby {he left his fone jen found it_

_Oh. Fuck. My friends have his phone. Good God, don't let them do anything stupid with it. And if they do have to do something stupid with it, let that stupid thing be dropping it in the effing Thames._

_Abby {meeeeeegggellllsss asnwer ur fonnnneee pllllzzzzz_

I closed out the other messages, recognzizing them as little more than her usual drunk texting. 

"Um, would you like a towel...or something?" I asked, looking at where he was standing awkwardly by my front door. "My phone, unfortunately, is not waterproof." He smiled weakly at that and I felt my mouth twitching up in response. 

"That would be nice, thank you," he said, shifting from foot to foot as he continued to create an ever-expanding puddle. I retreated down the hall to the small linen closet in my bathroom. 

And it was in there that I caught sight of myself in the mirror. 

Oh, God. I was hideous. My hair was loose and frizzy around my head and face, sticking up in odd places from my half assed attempt at taming it earlier, and for the love of all that was holy, I was still in my freaking Snoopy jammies. 

Kill me now, I groaned as I snatched a large grey towel out of the closet. I tried to flatten my hair with my hands as I re-emerged into the main room, but gave up as soon as I laid eyes on him again. He was looking around my living room from where he stood by my door, his blue green hazel eyes curious and only a little hazy from the alcohol. 

"Here," I said. "Um, I don't know how much help it will be, seeing as your clothes are absolutley sopping." He frowns down at himself. "Err....there is...I mean, if you don't think it's too weird, you could shower and I could just, you know, toss your things into the dryer for spin until they're good again. Warm you up, too, you're shivering." He was, in fact, trembling rather noticably, and though he did try to hide it for a moment, he sighed. 

"Tell me you're not a serial murderer," he said. 

"I'm not a serial murderer?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow. 

"Okay," he sighs. "I'm Martin." 

"Morgan," I say, smiling. "Bathroom's down the hall. Just...um. Well, hand your clothes to me as you....you know." I felt so awkward. This bloke, who I was just drooling over a little while ago in a picture sent from my drunk friend's phone, is standing in my living room, about to go into my bathroom, and take a shower. Naked. This man is going to be naked in my house, and I want to text Abby so badly that I'm silently cursing her for being drunk right now. I wish her three months of Friday nights at home by herself for this. 

Martin nodded and followed me down the hall, sloshing slightly, and I showed him the bathroom, gave a quick tutorial on how to operate my oddball shower, and then stood at a ninety degree angle to the door with my face turned away and a hand held out between the jamb and the mostly-shut door. 

He laid his jumper over my forearm, followed by his shirt, jeans, socks, and then his pants. 

God, I wanted to look. 

I blushed furiously and muttered something intellible to even myself as I rushed away from the bathroom. I headed into the kitchen, where my stacked washer and dryer were next to my stove. Slowly, I calmed myself, clearing the lint tray, throwing in a dryer sheet, and then tossing in his wet clothes. I set the machine up to dry, and headed back out to the living room. Abby had stopped texting me, and I did my best to control the urge to text her about Mr. Martin showing up on my doorstep. There had to be some sort of fate at work here, right? I mean, things like this just don't happen. 

It must be fate. 

Or some horrible cruel prank by the universe, because I've just realized that it will probably take a good forty minutes for the dryer to finish its job, and unless he's secretly an asshole, I really doubt Martin will remain in my shower for quite that long. And I really hope he's not secretly an asshole. 

But I should probably find something for Martin to wear once he gets out of the shower. Can't have him prancing about the place naked. 

Oh, my. My imagination runs away with that image for a moment, and I stare off into space while imagining this pretty-much-a-stranger lounging nude all over my home. 

Chewing my lip anxiously, I shake my head to try and clear it of the vivid fantasies (they don't go away, but my brain sets them aside for later) and head into my bedroom, searching for a suitable something for Martin to wear while he waits for his clothes to dry. 

Everything I own is too small, or too embarrassing to let him see. I mean, sure, he'd probably fit into my over sized, fluffy dressing gown, but what sort of man takes pink material with white kittens all over it in stride? 

I hear the water shut off in the bathroom, and suffer through a small panic attack. Will he come out in a towel? Oh, God, will he come out naked? 

My hands and arms spasm a little frantically as I try to find something for him to wear. 

There's nothing. Nothing but the bloody gown. 

Well. 

This was going to blow any chance of me ever getting laid by this particular hunk of man-tastic completely off the planet, let alone out of the water. 

Sighing in defeat, I carried the robe out into the hall, just in time for Martin to open the door to the bathroom. His hair was still wet and sticking up all over the place (he looks like a hedgehog, my brain supplies gleefully) and he was naked. 

Well. Mostly naked. The towel was slung loosely around his hips, and I had to strangle the sudden urge to whip it off and see what lies beneath. 

"Erm," he said. 

"Uh," I replied. 

We stared at each other for a second. The corner of his mouth twitched. Something in my stomach fluttered. 

And then we both broke down into giggles. 

"Sorry, sorry," I gasped after a couple of minutes. "Um, here, I'm afraid I don't have anything that will fit you except this, and your clothes won't be dry for another fifteen or twenty minutes. He takes the fuzzy gown from me, and stares at it for a second. 

"Kittens," he says, then grins. "Okay. This is officially the weirdest and most embarrassing day I've ever spent with a stranger." I grin. 

"Tea?" 

"Please." He follows me into the kitchen, pulling the dressing gown on over his towel. I check his clothes just in case; they're still rather wet. So I put the kettle on and awkwardly dither around my own kitchen waiting for it to boil. When it finally does, I get down two mugs (plain brown mugs; something in my house has to be normal and non-embarrassing, right?) and make tea. I turned around to hand him one and almost dropped both. 

He was drying his hair. With a towel. A towel that had previously been tied about his waist. 

He was standing in my kitchen, in my pink and white kitten dressing gown, and nothing else. The gown was, of course, tied shut with the sash, but that did nothing at all to deter my brain from focusing solely on the fact that he was bloody starkers under that robe. 

My skin flamed such a deep red that I almost spontanteously combust as he looked up at me from under the edge of the towel. His gaze made me feel, for a few seconds, as if I actually had just instantly turned into a pile of flaming, burning, embarrassed ash and bone, and the little smilely smirk that turned up the corners of his mouth just made it worse. 

"Alright?" he asked, and I nodded dumbly, holding out a cup of tea. He smiled and took it, letting the towel fall down around his shoulders. He sipped and closed his eyes, as if it were the best tea he'd ever had. It probably wasn't, but the look on his face made me feel a little warm and fuzzy inside nonetheless. 

"Well, um, would you like to call a friend, or perhaps a relative or flat mate or something? I mean, now that you're not going to murder my phone with water," I stammered out, and he looked up at me, tilting his head slightly. 

"Nobody would willingly come and get me in this weather unless I was dying. I'll probably have to call a cab. And I might as well wait until my clothes are dry for that," he said, shrugging and taking another long draw from his tea. I nodded again, swallowing a few big gulps of my tea. Silence stretched between us, and after a few awkward seconds, it settled into something almost....comfortable. Like this was something we did all the time. I smiled lightly into my cup as I finished the last of my tea. It'd been a while since I'd had a bloke around my place. It felt...nice, having someone else around, even if I was floundering in my own social ineptitude the entire time. 

I turned and rinsed out my cup in the sink, setting it in the basin to wash later. When I turned, I collided with something warm and solid and fuzzy. 

"Garh," I gasped as I knocked the man in my pink gown off balance, making him drop the mug in favor of steadying me. The ceramic shattered, chips and pieces scattering across the floor. 

"Fuck," Martin said, half to himself. It almost sounded like a question. 

"Yes," I replied automatically. He turned his head to look at me, raising an eyebrow. His lips twitched up as I blushed explosively. "Ah, erm, I mean-um." I stuttered helplessly as his lips spread into a small smile. His hands were still on my upper arms, his thumbs stroking the skin slowly just under the hem of my sleeve. Something hot and clenching made its precense known in my lower abdomen, and my face grew even redder (if that was even possible). 

"Do you have a broom?" he asked, and for a second, my imagination (which was getting wildly out of hand recently) turned "broom" into "bedroom" and I almost died right there in his arms. Instead, I reigned in the urge to drag him down the hallway and throw him on my bed, and instead nodded silently. Which was probably best, because I had the feeling my mouth had somehow gotten the idea that it would be awesome if I could just jump into bed with this man. My throat grew a little dry as he glanced from my eyes down to my lips, his blue grey eyes darkening a bit. "Watch your step," he added as he slowly (regretfully?) let me go so he could back up a couple of steps. I went to fetch the broom from where it was tucked next to the washer-dryer stack. Martin stood politely off to the side in my pink and white kittens gown as I started sweeping up the mess. I used the pan to scoop up the mess and dumped it into the bin, placing the broom and pan back in their place. 

"I'm sorry about your mug," Matin said as I turned to look at him. 

"Oh, no worries," I replied, taking a step closer to him. And then an unholy pain suddenly jabbed into the sole of my foot, and I instantly jerked and yanked my leg up to my chest and hopped about, cursing. "Oh, holy fuck and fish eggs and shit-eating bitches-!" Martin stared at me for a second, looking shocked, but as I started to wobble and my balance completely failed me, he lurched forward and caught me, his face stretched into a wide grin. 

"Miss a piece?" he asked, holding me in some absurd parody of a dip in some elegant dance (and God forbid I ever dance, have you noticed my lack of coordination?). 

"Aparently so," I grimaced, still holding my foot. I'm trying very hard not to think about how strong he is to be supporting me so, and how nice it is having his arms around me. 

Or how I can feel a strip of bare thigh against the small of my back between my t-shirt and Snoopy pjs. 

"Here, uh, let me." And then he picks me up. He freaking picked me up like a princess, like I weigh less than seven stone rather than more, and carried me into my living room. He set me down on my couch (I noticed, in some form of new horror, that my telly was still playing that painfully cheesy movie from earlier) and crouched in front of me. He pulled my foot up onto one of his knees and inspected the bottom for the sliver of ceramic. After a moment, he pinched my foot, I squeaked in pain (earning a slightly wicked grin from him) and he pulled the piece free. "There we are," he said, smiling. "Better?" I nodded, and he slid his hand down the bottom of my foot. I jumped and slapped a hand over my mouth to prevent my slightly embarrassing tickled-laugh from escaping. He stared at me for a second, and then, with a slowly spreading, positively evil smile, twitched his fingers against my instep. 

I tried to yank my foot back from him, but his grip on my ankle was too strong, and despite my thrashing, his insistent fingers continued to tickle me. Eventually I gave up keeping quiet and released the hold my fingers had on my mouth in favor of gripping the back of the couch and trying to scramble away. Another laugh bubbled up and past my lips as Martin continued to tickle me. A brilliant smile lit up his face at the (truly horrific, in my opinion) sound that burst from my lips, and he himself began to laugh as I struggled to get away from him. 

He had a marvellous laugh. 

"No, no, no, stop!" I laughed so hard it almost came out like a cackle. Martin blatantly ignored me and continued to tickle, pulling on my leg to keep me from escaping. He over estimated my strength however, and ended up yanking me right into him. We collided, and he fell backwards onto his back, me on top of him, awkwardly sideways, forming a human X on my living room floor. After a second, we both started giggling, and after a couple of minutes, we grew silent. 

"So..." Martin said from beneath me, "fish eggs?" I chew my lip. 

"I had a bad experience as a child, and used them for worse words after that," I admitted, moving to get off of him. But his hands settled on my shoulder and hip, making me go very, very still. I turned my head to look at him, and he had an eyebrow raised again. I flushed. "What?" I demanded. "It's true. My parents had a weird taste in food." He grinned, and I felt something in my lower abdomen flutter. 

"Sushi?" 

"Something like that," I winced, remembering my mother's, ah, experimental flair. He laughed again, and the pleasant rumble of his chest and jump of his belly made something hot and twitchy clench in mine. I flushed as his hand tightened a bit on my hip, and I unconcously twitched a little in his grip. His smile froze and then shrank a little as his eyes suddenly sought mine. I didn't move as he stared at me, his eyes darkening again. 

"Uh," I said, my brilliant eloquency showing itself once more. Almost hesitantly, he pressed his fingers into the curve of my hip again, a little more firmly. And again, without my brain's consent, my buttocks tightened and my hips rose in this little rolling motion that is pretty much blatantly sexual. 

And Martin doesn't seem to mind it one bit. In fact, I feel his interest quickly swelling near my right hip and side, and I blush explosively. He bit his lip and slowly, carefully, stroked his thumb along an exposed strip of skin along my hip. I trembled and a small gasp escaped my lips, and his mouth parted slightly. His other hand slipped under my shoulders and gently rolled me over, the other hand pushing on my hip until I was lying on my stomach along his body. I blushed deeply at the feeling of his arousal beginning to press insistently against my lower belly. 

"Oh," I gasped as his hands slid slowly around my body, his palms pressing on my lower back as he gently lifted his hips, pressing himself against me. I felt my body flush with heat, and my neither regions clenched insistently around nothing, as if reminding me what I had been planning on doing this evening, before all the rain had started. And going out and finding some bloke to take home in a drunk haze hadn't quite been how I ended up here, but bloody hell, it was close enough. 

So I let out a small sigh and dropped my head to Martin's chest, rolling my hips slowly against his. I heard him groan a little and his hands got a bit tighter on my body, his thumbs and forefingers slipping under my top to stroke my skin. I gasped, and he slowly pushed up the back of my shirt to run his palms over my bare back. Despite the fact that he was in my ridiculous dressing gown, and I was in my childish Snoopy jammies, I wanted this man more than I could ever remember wanting anyone. 

Martin slid his hands slowly, tourterously slowly, down from my back and under the waistband of my pajamas to grab at my arse. I gasped and jerked against him. 

"God!" he bit out, thrusting up against me. I unclenched my left hand from where it was knotted in the silly gown to grab at his jaw, lifting my head. Before I could get too nervous or think too much, I moved my head forward and drew his closer, planting my lips firmly on his. 

His mouth was heaven. 

He still tasted faintly of alcohol, and the tea I'd made him earlier, sweet and strong. The taste became dizzingly potent when he slowly ran his tongue over the seam of my lips, encouraging me to open my mouth. I did so and gently extended my tongue to meet his. He groaned into my mouth, and his hips thrusted up against me. I gasped and the kiss broke. 

"Fuck," Martin moaned, groping my arse and grinding my hips against his. 

"Yes, please," I panted into his throat, my tongue flicking out to taste his skin. Salt and rain and my shower gel. God, he'd used my shower gel. 

"You...aagh...sure?" he gasped as I started kissing along his throat. I paused, and thought for a second. 

"Yep," I nodded. 

And with a growling noise, Martin removed his hands from my pyjamas to roll me over. He nudged my legs apart with his knee to grind his swollen member against my hidden core, and I cried out at the sensation. He nuzzled against my throat before biting me, sucking a purple love bite into place. I arched underneath him, and he took it as an invitation to grope at my breasts through my t-shirt. 

"I don't think I'll be calling that cab," he muttered against my throat as the dryer announced the end of its cycle. 

"Please don't," I moaned as he gently tweaked at the tip of my right breast. I gasped as he pushed and pulled at the cotton until he pulled off my t-shirt to kiss and bite and grope at my exposed skin. 

"Mmm," Martin groaned against my right tit, taking the nipple into his mouth. I cried out and arched underneath him, my fingers grabbing at the soft material of the gown. I managed to pull it off one shoulder, and he took the hint, quickly untangling himself from it and throwing it aside. I ran my hands over his skin, feeling every inch of him I could get my hands on. His fingers appeared at my hips, tugging at my jammies and knickers. I lifted my hips and he pulled them off, kicking them away. His hand dipped down to the fork of my legs, fingers gently stroking, teasing the outer folds of my sex. I groaned and he grinned against my chest. 

Slowly, he pushed one finger inside of me, and I made a soft sound of pleasure. He hissed against my skin and added a second as he slowly pumped them in and out of my body. His thumb gently rolled against my clit, making me cry out. 

"So tight," Martin whispered. He licked his lips, tongue flicking over my breast, making me gasp and moan. 

"God, just-dammit, stop teasing and fuck me already!" I cried, making him chuckle. He slowly slid his fingers free, and I groaned at the loss. But he quickly moved a little higher on my body and reached down. I felt the head of his cock pressing against my opening, and I gasped as he began to breach me. It'd been a long time since I'd been with anyone, and my body was eager and at the same time reluctant to accept the breach. 

"Oh my fucking God," Martin hissed as he finally slid to the hilt inside my body. Panting, I clung to him, eyes wide. He was bigger, much bigger, than either of my previous partners. Slowly, he pulled out and just as slowly thrust back in. "Alright?" he whispered, look down at me. Breathless, I nodded. And he gave me this innocently wicked grin and snapped his hips against mine, driving in deep. 

"Oh, God!" I cried, jerking beneath him. 

I had the feeling I'd have some serious rug burn on my back and bum by the end of this, but at the same time, I had another feeling that it would be more than worth it. 

He increased his speed, pounding into my body without mercy. I clung to him, jolts of heat and electricity surging through my belly and out through my limbs every time he pierced me with his cock. He started to swear more and more as he continued to fuck me, and I found myself unable to form words, crying out in intelligable sounds and loud moans. His hands groped and pinched at my breasts, causing sparks of sensation to make their way down to my sensitive sex, making every thrust that much more potent. I felt myself rising higher and higher beneath Martin, my head thrown back as he latched onto my throat with his teeth. 

I didn't quite expect it when I hit my peak, and my orgasm almost took me by surprise. I screamed my lover's name when the clenching, flying, falling, mind-numbing waves of sensation through my body. Martin swore and thrust into me faster, harder, his movements becoming erratic and wild until finally he cried out my name and slowed, gasping for air and kissing my neck and throat and face, and finally my mouth. 

"Mmm..." I sighed, twitching slightly beneath him as I slowly came back down to earth. He continued to happily cuddle me until he was soft enough to fall free of my body, and I looked dazedly down at where he was kissing gently at my chest. "Erm...Martin?" 

"Hm?" 

"I was wondering...if you want to call that cab," I said, hesitating a little, "or if you'd like...to...um, stay." He stared up at me for a second, then smiled brightly. 

"Well. This was a much better way to spend my night that I thought it had been headed. I think I'd like to continue this good night. And good morning. And afternoon. And good next day. And next day. And day after that. Is that....okay?" he said against the skin of my breastbone. 

"Oh, God, yes," I said, pulling him up for another kiss. 

After that, I introduced him to my bedroom. Specifically my floor. And then my bed. Multiple times. And then my kitchen table the next morning. And I had no idea what sort of relationship that would be based off of this oddly random beginning, but hey. 

The sex was unbelieveable. 

As Martin kissed my neck from behind, somehow facinated by my rat's nest of hair, I finally got around to checking my phone again. I had several missed texted, most from Abby, a couple from some other friends, and two from my coworker (one asking if I could cover her shift, the second a slightly pissy retraction because of my lack of a reply). I ignored them all in favor of shooting Abby a new text. 

_So, you'll never guess who showed up on my doorstep last night...}Me_

_Abby {Why the fuck u texting me at this hour? i so hungiver its not ven funy_

I sent her a picture of Martin drinking tea on my couch. 

In my pink and white kittens dressing gown.


End file.
